Taste You On My Lips And Smell You In My Clothes
by Misato
Summary: Dean lays down some ground rules. Dean/Cas, 2014!verse, possessive rough sex.


And to think, Dean used to _enjoy _orgies.

He didn't know the two new girls; they'd found them cowering in a broken-down Jeep during a supply run but they reeked of pot and patchouli so it only took about five minutes for the two of them and Cas to start carrying on like old friends. All told there were eight people squeezed into the cabin and Dean was getting a contact high just from all the crap floating around in the air. He leaned against the door frame and watched as the party started getting into full swing, the only one with his clothes still on; it was hard to get into the spirit of things when all he could think about was how completely _fucked _they all were if a group of Croats stumbled up on them now.

Dean watched one of the new girls, the blonde, back Cas onto the bed and sit in his lap; her hippie dreads hid her face as she kissed him wet and sloppy, whispering something Dean couldn't make out as she slipped a pill into his mouth. Because that was _exactly _what Cas needed, more fucking pills. Her friend sauntered over to Dean, running one hand down his arm and starting to undo his belt.

"Touch me again and you're down a hand."

She recoiled back, clearly debating with herself whether he meant it before wandering back and making out with one of the other girls, a regular who never missed the chance to get into Cas' cabin. "What's _his _problem?" he overheard her say, sending an over the shoulder look his way before the other girl shut her up. Dean shook his head; he hated new people. The regulars knew better – not that Dean didn't like sex, but he sure as hell didn't need to take part in Cas' freakshows to get it.

Cas' eyes locked with his over Hippie Girl's shoulder as he made a show of tracing his tongue around the piercing in her lip and that was pretty much Dean's limit; he turned around and walked off without a word, slamming the door behind him.

About two hours later Dean was in the middle of cleaning his guns for the morning perimeter sweep when he heard his doorknob turn. The number of people who would drop by his cabin unannounced was pretty small and Dean forced himself to not look up when he saw Cas slouch against the doorjamb in his peripheral vision. "You left early."

Dean put the Glock to the side and started on the Desert Eagle (hey, sometimes you really need stopping power.) "Not my scene, Cas, you know that."

"And yet you always show up."

Dean looked up then; Cas was flushed and his hair was a mess, looking thoroughly debauched but more sober than expected. "How trashed are you?"

Cas shrugged. "The usual. Why?"

Dean shook his head and pushed himself away from the table, making his way over to his supply closet. After a few seconds of searching he found what he'd been looking for, a tattoo gun that used to belong to a guy they'd met outside San Antonio; he'd only lasted two days before the Croats got him but his stuff still worked just fine. It had taken Dean some time to teach himself to use it but it sure as hell was easier than doing things with a needle by hand. "Have a seat."

Cas' eyes went wide when he saw the tattoo gun in Dean's hand but he recovered quickly. "Kinky."

"Cut it out, Cas," Dean said, rolled his eyes. "Everyone who stays on in the camp has to be tattooed against possession, you know that. We've been putting this off long enough."

"I can't get possessed," he said, walking over to sit on the table when Dean gestured toward it.

"You sure about that?" Dean turned the gun on briefly, just to make sure it did still work, and finished laying out the ink and water to rinse the machine out.

"_Yes._"

"Okay, then. Here's the deal: you fly your ass out of here right now and we'll call off the whole thing."

That drew blood. Cas' gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw going tight; Dean sighed as he pulled up a chair, dropping into it loudly enough that he saw Cas startle. "Not trying to be a dick here," he said, and that was even part of the way true. "We've just gotta be realistic. Now, shirt off."

Cas pulled his shirt over his head without another word; Dean rolled his eyes when he saw the three red scratches down the left side of his chest and more down his back. "The fuck, Cas?" he said, putting antiseptic on the scratches before prepping the other side of the chest, where he was putting the tattoo.

"She was very passionate," he said, his lips curling up and Dean just rolled his eyes more.

"Lay back." He drew the charm tattoo free hand, something Dean could do in his sleep by now. "And quit moving around."

"It tickles."

"Do _not _be a bitch about this."

"You won't hear a word of complaint." And true to his word, Cas winced a little when he heard the whine of the machine but didn't make a sound when he felt the needle. "You should have stayed," he said instead, the tight lines around his eyes the only sign of discomfort. "Elise used to be a gymnast, the positions she could maintain were...remarkable."

Dean just shook his head. "Not my thing. I don't know why it's your thing."

"Who would have guessed a few years ago I would be trying to get _you _to loosen up?"

Dean supposed he had a point there. "What are you getting out of all that?" he said after a few minutes. "Is it like the drugs, more of the same?"

"You brought me to a brothel once when you thought I might die in the morning, why is this such a mystery? We could all die tomorrow. I don't see any reason to restrain myself."

He didn't sound nearly as flippant as Dean thought he wanted to but he couldn't come up with a good counter argument. "Still don't know how you managed to screw that up."

"We made the most of the night anyway."

He finished outlining the tattoo, wiping away the last of the excess ink. "Okay, I'm gonna start shading it all in now. This'll hurt a lot more."

Cas nodded, the muscle in his jaw tensing for a second. As the minutes dragged on Dean could see sweat start to bead up on his forehead, whether from pain or from the stuffy cabin or some combination of the two Dean didn't know. He watched one bead of sweat slide down his face as he took a quick break to stretch a cramp out of his hand, the vivid memory of seeing Cas flushed with sweat in the backseat of his car on a warm Maine night overwhelming him for a second. "How're you holding up?" he said, forcing that away.

"I'm fine."

Which was probably a lie but Dean didn't argue with him about it. He put one hand on Cas' waist to shift him over slightly into a better position. "How're your ribs?" he said, running his thumb over an old scar. They'd rolled over one of the trucks trying to get away from an ambush a few weeks back and Cas had taken the worst of it. "They healed up?"

Cas nodded, his brow furrowing in that old way that always made Dean's chest clench up. It wasn't an expression he saw very often anymore and always brought back memories. "They were only bruised. It felt worse than it was."

"Yeah, I guess so if _Elise _was able to maul you like that. I swear, Cas, I don't know why you even bother learning their names. It always fucks you up when they bite it."

"Forgive me. I'll start treating everyone like the walking dead the way you do."

"I swear, I don't know why I bother with you sometimes."

The next minutes passed by with nothing but the whirr of the tattoo gun to fill the silence. When the tattoo was a little over half done Dean shut the machine off for a second, needing to check his work, and Cas spoke so softly Dean almost didn't catch the words. "I find enjoyment in being around people who aren't terrified for their lives, even if it's only for an hour or two. And in being around people who find pleasure in being with me."

Dean turned the machine back on, shaking his head. "Lie still. We're almost done." He lasted almost a full five minutes before the words tumbled out. "Why the fuck do you keep inviting me? It's like you _want _me to watch. Like you're rubbing my face in it."

"Think what you want." Cas tensed up, letting out a little hiss of pain.

"You okay?"

Cas nodded, his mouth a tight line. "How long is this going to take? I have things to do."

"Things to _take_," Dean muttered under his breath. All the same, Dean rested his free hand back against Cas' waist for a few seconds, stroking his thumb against that scar. That had happened two months after Detroit, a scuffle with another group of survivors as if they all didn't have enough problems with the Croats and the demons. Cas' angel healing not kicking in had been the first sign of how wrong things were getting. The memory of Cas bleeding and bleeding in that parking lot was one of those recurring nightmares Dean pretended he didn't have. "Almost there," he said, leaning over him more closely than he probably needed to, close enough to feel him breathing.

After a few more minutes the tattoo was done and Dean wiped it clean. "There. Now you're officially a no-demon zone."

"Great. What do I owe you?"

When he tried to get off the table Dean put one hand on his chest, holding him in place. He tried again and Dean straddled him, pinning him down to the table and shaking his head. When he leaned over him to whisper in his ear Dean could feel how hard he was. "Here's what you owe me," he said, feeling how Cas shivered at the hot breath on his ear. "When your girls see this tattoo and ask where you got it, you make sure you tell them it was from me." Then he grabbed a handful of Cas' hair and kissed him, a rough, hard kiss that pressed him down into the table. He felt the low moan Castiel let out rush through him like one of Cas' drugs.

"_Finally_," Cas whispered, his voice cracking around the edges. "For a second I thought you were going to let me just leave."

That just made Dean kiss him even harder, biting at his lip as if to make sure he never wanted to hear anything that _stupid _come out his mouth again. He heard Cas kick off his boots and slid Cas' jeans down over his hips – technically they were Dean's jeans anyway, he'd given Cas some of his old clothes when the suit and trenchcoat finally bit the dust. It always made Dean just a little bit hard to think about the rest of the camp watching Cas walk around in his clothes.

Besides, being a little bit too big made it all the easier to get Cas out of them. He backed off the table and undid his own jeans, reaching over to grab some lube from the nearby cabinet, using just enough to make sure it this would still be a little bit rough. To make sure Cas really _felt_it.

Dean almost came right there from how Cas' head snapped back as Dean slid inside him, that little smile flitting across his face. "None of your girls can do _that _for you, can they," he whispered, grabbing another handful of hair.

"Actually, Celeste..."

Dean put his tongue down Cas' throat to shut him up because he did not want to _know_. He thrust hard into him, the moan Cas let out making him lightheaded. He felt Cas' hand reach under his shirt, digging into his back as Dean rode him, his back arching up to urge Dean even harder and even faster. Cas was dripping precome, already so close _Dean _ached with it.

Cas groaned Dean's name, loud enough Dean knew someone could hear it outside. He hoped someone did. "You'll come when I want you to, Cas," he whispered, letting a cruel edge drift into his voice and Cas moaned again, pulsing tight around him. They'd done this so many times Dean knew all of Cas' tells, knew what every little shake and moan meant and knew exactly how to keep Cas right on that edge. "Here's how it's gonna be," he said, and it took every ounce of his self control to not come from the way Cas' wide blue eyes looked at him. "I don't care who you fuck, Cas," he said, stroking up Cas' cock, rolling his hips with slow, steady movements that made Cas' eyes flutter. "But when you're done playing around with them, you come back here to me. And you make sure _every last one of them _knows where you're going." He thrust hard again, licking up Cas' neck. "You understand me?"

Cas nodded, beyond words and Dean smiled. He went back into a fast rhythm and Cas moaned with relief, matching him until Dean made one last thrust. Even if Dean hadn't been right on the edge himself the little sound Cas let out as he shook, his eyes dilating to deep blue rings as he came, that would have been enough to push him over. Dean never had to remind Cas to keep his eyes open so he could watch. Cas had his drugs.

Dean had this.

Dean lay beside him on the table until he caught his breath. "You're staying here tonight. You're staying a while, I want to make sure the tattoo heals right."

Cas just nodded, still so dazed Dean wasn't sure he'd heard. "I should piss you off more often."

"You do it often enough."

He helped Cas off the table and over to the bed, catching him when his legs gave out. "When's your next playdate?"

"It's...I don't know. Next week. Whenever," he said, his breathing still ragged.

Dean wrapped his arms back around him. He knew he should get him dressed again, ambushes happened too often to risk being caught flat-footed by sleeping naked but fuck it. They'd chance it this once. "Don't tire yourself out," he said into his ear, watching his lips curl up. "And don't be late."


End file.
